Modell broke bond with fans who propelled him for years

Memories are wonderful. But memories of sporting events are the best ones to have, because you are not the only one who has them. You can at least verify what happened on that long-ago evening or afternoon, or find common ground with a total stranger if you come across some technical issues recalling those exact moments.

Memories of these sporting events usually include the players who did something extraordinary during the game: the great catch, the great tackle or the great recovery.

I had mixed emotions when I heard of Art Modell's death a few weeks back. At 56, I had followed the team for decades before 1995, through the 1960s with my friends in elementary school. I still remember watching the 1964 championship game on tape, the next day, or watching the Quarterback Club on Channel 5 every Wednesday evening; that Browns theme plays in my head every now and then.

My devotion continued into high school, with Pruitt, and college with Sipe; many hours and lots of money spent — it's what you do as a fan, right? (My dad was born in Ireland and hated American football, so he never had an opinion on the Browns.)

Art's high-water mark was in the mid-1980s when (former general manager) Pete Hadhazy snagged a lot of talent from the World Football League, and in 1985, when Modell drafted Bernie Kosar.

Bad luck followed, and at the peak of sports in Cleveland, in October 1995, with the Indians in the World Series, Modell pulled the plug.

If you grew up in Greater Cleveland in the 1960s and stayed into the 1990s, you know Art Modell. If you worked downtown, you saw him walking on Euclid Avenue, leaving the Union Commerce Building, or on Short Vincent. You saw him in Waite Hill where he lived; he was part of the town.

Modell ran the old Cleveland Municipal Stadium for years, and cited the stadium's condition as part of the reason for his decision to move the team. The dichotomy was evident sitting in the sparkling new Jacobs Field on Opening Day in 1994: The old stadium was a dump no matter how much love you'd had for the place, and Art did zero to fix it up, despite the loges and field work.

For a sports franchise to succeed, you need fans. Yes, you can make money without the gate receipts, but fans watch on TV or listen on the radio, talk up the team on the Internet; they keep the franchise going, win or loose. That kind of commitment requires an emotional bond, a friendship, an affair with the team, with the concept of companionship, of getting off the couch, mingling with fellow humans.

Sports bring a city together, all races, all shapes, and sizes, when the team leaves, the hole in the collective psyche is huge and it never fills up. If you are in that position, sell the team, let it go and save your fans that kept you going then now and forever with those memories.

John Mullowney is a Cleveland native and long-time Browns fan who now lives in Cincinnati.